


all the rainbows

by IvyPrincess



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Inspired by Kimi no Na wa. | Your Name., M/M, Museums, Romance, angst? don't know her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-03 23:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyPrincess/pseuds/IvyPrincess
Summary: In which Renjun learns to love at dawn, at dusk, and at every hour in between.





	all the rainbows

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to everyone who beta read this shitshow for me: nissi, anne, kat, and everyone in between ♥️

_ Jeno’s there again, like he's been almost every night before this one. Just like before, he steps slowly into the undulating waves of gold, uncaring of the grassy whispers brushing up roughly against his palms and his knees. His eyes never leave the back of the youth in front of him, the one his heart sings out to._

_ Just like before, Jeno tastes a devastating loss on his tongue, one of words gone unspoken for a fraction too long. Just like before, the boy turns his head back to look at him, gentle smile revealing hints of small teeth, not breaking a single step, and Jeno once again stops too soon in his tracks, for he knows he cannot follow. He strains his eyes until the last second, but just like last night, the setting sun gleams too brightly, and when he can shake the dazzle out of his eyes, Jeno's hand is outstretched towards an ocean of wheat closing ranks in the wake of someone he cannot remember. _

_ It’s this gesture he finds himself waking in, one open palm facing the ceiling, a wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes and arching down his cheeks like starlight. Jeno wonders what it is that he mourns. _

* * *

Renjun thinks he’s still dreaming when the smell of food invades his nostrils. He groans as a weight settles on the mattress beside his prone form.

“Injunnie, time to get up,” a voice calls sweetly, rubbing a hand over his shoulders. “I made breakfast for you,” he singsongs. Renjun peeks out balefully at the brunet through his mound of blankets.

“I told you, you don’t have to make me breakfast every morning,” he grumbles into his pillow with no real heat, smothering his blush in the grey cotton. The other man coos before suddenly sweeping in, and Renjun absolutely does not let out a squeak at how effortlessly his boyfriend can plop him in his lap, blanket burrito and all. “Na Jaemin, put me down now!” His demand would have been a lot more threatening if his voice hadn’t cracked.

After his daily harrassment (“Injunnie, tell me how I’m supposed to resist your cute sleepy face every day”), Renjun finds himself situated at the dining table, elbows digging into the formica as he tries to resist moaning around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Jaemin, seated across from him, fingers crossed under his chin and nearly visible hearts in his eyes, looks smug enough already. 

As Renjun’s struggling with the dishwasher, Jaemin pipes up. “Babe, don’t you have a client meeting at 10 today?” Renjun looks up at the clock and immediately curses, almost dropping the plate in his hands. It’s almost 9 already, and the trains always run late so he has to take an earlier one. He bolts for the bathroom.

Renjun’s fumbling with the last button on his shirt when Jaemin appears in the doorway to his bedroom, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over a Moomin sweatshirt and leering appreciatively. Renjun would be more embarrassed, but he’s honestly immune to Jaemin’s flirting at this point, and the Zhongs always spent more money when he dresses nicely. It’s probably a combination of his boosted confidence in a suit and how slim he looks in tailored pinstripes. Chenle’s mother did always love to feed him.

Renjun glances over at his lover after double-checking his appearance in the mirror. He arches an eyebrow at the other man. “Are those my joggers?” 

Jaemin grins playfully. “Aren’t they all yours?” 

Renjun rolls his eyes, unable to hide the smirk tugging up the corners of his lips. “Yeah, but are they _ mine _ mine,” he retorts affectionately. 

Jaemin looks down exaggeratedly at his exposed ankles before making eye contact with Renjun and winking. 

“Absolutely not,” Jaemin replies cheekily before walking over and pulling Renjun between his knees as he sits down on the edge of the bed. Renjun runs one hand through Jaemin’s hair, tracing down the side of his face as Jaemin’s eyes fall shut in contentment. He tilts his face up so Renjun can caress his cheek down to his chin, propping Jaemin’s chin up further with one finger so their lips can meet.

Jaemin eagerly tugs Renjun down so he’s straddling him, knees spread on either side of Jaemin’s thighs as he opens his mouth and deepens the kiss, but Jaemin soon pulls back slightly, still keeping their foreheads touching.

“One for you,” the brunet pants into Renjun’s mouth before bringing their lips back together in another bruising kiss, “and one for him.” Renjun nods as they part again before reluctantly pulling away and getting up. He really does have to go.

Renjun glances back one last time before he heads out the door. 

“The letter’s on the counter,” Jaemin informs him huskily, lips still swollen with Renjun’s affection. “Make sure he reads it this time.”

Renjun snorts, remembering how blind Jeno can be. “I will.”

Jaemin nods, still staring at him intensely with hooded eyes, and Renjun doesn’t want to look away. “See you tomorrow morning then, Injunnie.”

“Until then. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

* * *

The train is almost completely empty as always. He’s not riding the one that goes directly to the business district downtown, nor is he taking that first train during traffic rush hours that all the 9-to-5ers and students take, so this train is almost completely empty. It’s still difficult to pick a seat though: both a seat facing the concrete walls the train runs beside and a seat where the early sun will blind him are equally unappealing. Renjun settles on one side, resigning himself to seeing red behind his shut eyelids for half an hour as the light does its best to prevent him from napping.

The rumbling beneath his seat soothes his nerves as always, and Renjun finds himself falling into that mental lull between wakefulness and unconsciousness, where he can muse over things alone, and he values the solitude that is so hard to come by these days, what with so much of his time spent on work and love and staying on the move. Despite the siren’s call of a few more minutes of sleep, Renjun finds his thoughts straying to his lover again, Jaemin’s hungry gaze as he left catching on a gnarl in his tangled thoughts.

Renjun understands his lover’s yearning, and he’s sure Jeno misses Jaemin just as much, if not more. Having his lovers together never fails to soften his mood, affection overwhelming him in surging waves when he watches them embrace, the intimacy present when they rub noses, too full of love to even kiss. Renjun loves them both resoundingly, loves that they fell just as deeply for each other.

Jeno and Jaemin have always had a silent dynamic that presents itself in the way they maneuver around each other, so aware of each other’s presence with every fiber of their being that it’s become unconscious habit to revolve around each other. Renjun knows they have their inside jokes, ones that he’s not privy to, and it manifests in occasional shared glances and the synchronicity in their approaches towards Renjun himself.

Sometimes, Renjun wonders if he’s just one more stop on their journey, a conduit for them to communicate, a catalyst to spark them into something wondrous and dazzling while he coalesces quietly on his own, but then he remembers the sweetness coating every word dripping into his ears from Jaemin’s honey lips, feels the huff of Jeno’s breath behind him as his arms tighten around Renjun’s waist, and brushes away the self-deprecating thoughts like they deserve.

He rubs at the scar on his hand, still a faint purple like the beginning of a bruise, except it’s a bruise he’s had for the last twenty-odd years. It’ll darken soon enough, though.

The train stops smoothly, and Renjun winces as he opens his eyes too suddenly, sunlight shooting into the back of his skull as he stumbles out of the carriage. Time to go.

* * *

The art gallery makes Renjun’s heart soar every time he walks inside, the same feeling of quiet awe soothing his tension as it’s done for every morning in the past five years. The gallery exterior is unassuming enough, an antique storefront tucked away amidst upscale boutiques and quaint diners in an area of town more often frequented by visiting tourists and wealthy trendsetters than actual residents from the surrounding suburbs.

Inside the foyer, borderless cutouts high up in the ceiling flood with sunlight to reflect on the bare white walls that engulf delicate photographs dotting the entryway walls. It was Mark’s idea to have a memory wall near the entrance, one visitors could become a part of and leave behind when they left the city, a little remnant that they entrusted to the Victoria Gallery. The display has doubled in size since Renjun’s works were first featured, and soon Lucas and Donghyuck will be bitching about having to archive half of it again. 

It was a sweet gesture, very representative of the romantic Mark claimed not to be, Xiaojun remarked absentmindedly once, oblivious to their director’s rapidly reddening ears. 

It was a hassle to prevent people from lingering, Donghyuck had retorted, equally unaware of the way Mark had sagged at his quip.

The rest of the gallery varied in design, supposedly according to the artist and function, but actually according to whatever fit of pique the various curators wanted to go through that month. There was some method to the madness, though, with the touring exhibits always housed close to the front of the building, Xiaojun preferring dark walls and warm lighting a majority of the time. 

“It spotlights the pottery so well,” the Chinese man responded dreamily back when Renjun had asked. “The mysterious gleam of the glaze under a single star… Doesn’t it draw the eye in when you can’t see everything at first glance?” Renjun recalls the pattern of moonlight he traces with one finger along Jeno’s spine at night, the shift and flex of muscles hidden under velvet skin, and tries to will the flush off his cheeks as he hums noncommittally in agreement.

Upstairs, the VIP room is shockingly sumptuous, all burgundy walls and cherry woods, upholstery plush enough that Renjun knows for a fact no one’s ever sat down in that room. Despite it not being his style, Renjun has to admire Guanheng’s ability to dress the place in money. 

“Red _ does _ open up the appetite,” the art broker had stated, pointedly eyeing Lucas’ Happy Meal box. “I was thinking maybe the same would be true for buyers’ wallets.”

This display room is where Renjun heads now, straightening his blazer anxiously as he climbs the stairs. It’s been quite a while since he’s seen the Zhongs, so the nerves are setting in. But it seems he fretted for nothing, if being immediately enveloped into Mrs. Zhong’s perfumed arms was any indication.

“Oh, child, you’ve gotten even skinnier since I last saw you, ah!” She cries in Chinese, beaming as she holds him out at arm’s length to give him a more thorough once over. “You _ must _ come over for dinner more often, or you’ll become as skinny as Lele’s Jisung!”

A long-suffering sigh comes from behind the portly woman. “Ma, you know Sungie’s just tall so he looks more stretched out, you overfeed Renjun every time already and he’s too polite to say no!” A colorful head of curls peeks out from behind the matriarch as Renjun finishes shaking hands with Chenle’s father, who looks very amused by his wife and son’s antics.

“I’d love to come over again for your wonderful cooking anytime, auntie,” Renjun replies cheekily, sending Chenle into a huff of disgust and his parents into good-natured laughter.

“Never mind that,” the younger man interrupts impatiently, striding forward and clasping Renjun by both shoulders. “Have you finished it yet? I’m so excited to see you work your magic again!”

Renjun returns his grin, always unfailingly cheered up by the buoyant younger man. “Why don’t we go take a look?”

Renjun guides the Zhongs back downstairs, but they don’t turn into any of the main exhibition halls, not even the one Renjun earned as his permanent display in his second year with the gallery. Instead, they walk towards the back courtyard, a rustic garden overgrown and positively dripping with vines, all encased under a glass ceiling. The floor is loosely paved with cobblestone, lush grass growing where the stones don’t touch, and Renjun had fallen in love with the setting at first sight. Amongst the foliage, rough-hewn wooden canvases were scattered off the path, ready to display any of the numerous pieces Renjun had been preparing for months now.

“This is where everything will be,” he gestures outwards. “We’ll still have the majority of the event in the main exhibition hall, but we can slide some of the wall panels around so guests have a clear path to this courtyard.”

A year ago, Renjun had only just met Chenle and his parents. It had been a stroke of luck that Canada’s most beloved child prodigy had chosen to hide out from a sudden sunshower in the unassuming gallery and become enamored with its collection.

“It was your mural,” Chenle had recalled, reminiscing about their fateful encounter.and his delighted surprise when he found out the gallery was actually owned by his neighbor. Renjun had arched one brow skeptically at the younger man’s comment, remembering the massive glass piano he had tried to paint onto one of the movable panels, a work that had left him drowning in tears of frustration to the point that the piece was displayed unfinished, bold brush strokes teetering out into minimal pencil sketches. It was still meaningful in its own way, Renjun supposed.

“I don’t know what you wanted to express,” Chenle had continued. “I don’t even know if I interpreted it the way you would have intended, but your art just made me reevaluate how I viewed music’s presence in my own life… I was at a crossroads back then, you know? Just young enough that I still had a chance to do something else with my life, something others would deem more fitting, just old enough that I spent every night worrying about whether choosing music as a career would be my greatest mistake. 

“I walked in that day, and as soon as I saw the piano, I knew I had made the right choice. Being a pianist isn’t something that anyone could pressure me into becoming anymore; it was something I had to choose for myself, and now it’s up to me to see how far I can go.” 

Chenle turned to Renjun, a wry half-smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You drew something that danced for me.” He patted his own chest. “And it danced all the way into here.”

The next time Chenle returned to the gallery, he came with company. The older Zhongs were of the same mind as their son and promptly commissioned Renjun for their annual charity gala. A set amount of the auction proceedings would go towards Renjun’s payment, but the rest would be donated under the Zhong Foundation’s name towards saving the Bornese rainforest. 

To the surprise of all, and especially Renjun himself, the Zhongs’ wealthy friends had much the same opinion about the admittedly splendid painting, and the young artist soon found himself inundated with new patrons eager to claim some works of beauty for their own private collections. Jaemin and Jeno had been so proud of him.

“Sugar daddy me,” Jaemin had teased.

“Don’t forget us when you’re famous,” Jeno quipped, eyes crinkling so hard they were barely visible.

This year, to celebrate the expansion of donations and last year’s successes, Chenle and his family had insisted on honoring Renjun’s talent and sponsoring a showcase of his latest works, and Renjun had countered with the idea of donating profits from all his works to their foundation. After much affectionate haggling, they had all eventually agreed on a joint event, and thus this year’s gala afterparty was to be held at the Victoria Gallery itself. 

The staff, of course, were overjoyed at the prospect of more local publicity. 

“That’s my boy,” Lucas had crowed, slapping Renjun so hard on the back that the aftershock came out trembling through his fingertips, Mark behind him desperately trying to stop Donghyuck and Yangyang from T-posing on the front desk.

Jaemin and Jeno had been equally overjoyed, Jaemin making a celebratory feast and Jeno smothering Renjun in sloppy kisses all over his cheeks. 

Everyone’s reactions aside, Renjun himself was in equal parts elated and terrified. Elated, because this was the kind of opportunity he and his compatriots from art school had only dreamed of receiving. Terrified, because there was a chance that he wouldn’t be able to prove his worth, and few around him could understand the dark side of his thoughts.

Guanheng had shrugged it off. “If they’re not convinced your paintings are worth buying, I’ll just talk them into it.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Donghyuck rolled his eyes. “If they’re that blind to your overwhelming talent, we’ll just blacklist them from coming back,” he finished smugly while Mark spluttered in the background.

Even Jaemin didn’t seem to entirely understand why Renjun felt trapped. 

“I’m not an artist, Injunnie, but I’ll be here for you every time you need to rest. I love you, yeah? Let’s get through this together.” And he had smiled so sweetly that Renjun let himself exhale into the crook of his neck, reluctant to try to explain further and sour the feeling of comfort he so desperately craved..

Only Jeno seemed to truly understand, nodding solemnly as Renjun tried to untangle his thoughts for like the fifth time. 

“This is your do or die situation, isn’t it?” He asked, tone full of understanding and laced underneath with personal experience. “It’s not that you actually believe things would go badly, it’s that you can’t stop thinking about the consequences if they _ do _ .” Renjun could wail in relief that someone finally, truly _ gets it _, but he settles for sprawling out his entire body on top of his boyfriend in thanks.

At least all of his worries have turned out to be for naught, if the gasps he hears behind him are any indication. 

“This is where my new series will be hosted during the afterparty,” Renjun explains, gesturing out at the masses of enchanting greenery. “You’ve already seen some of the paintings from it, but many of the pieces were inspired by the work the Zhong Foundation has done, so I thought maintaining the rainforest theme would be a nice touch.”

Chenle’s mother reaches up to pat him on the cheek. “Renjun-ah, this is all so beautiful. Thank you so much!”

Renjun covers her hand on the side of his face with his own, giddy from her approval. “We’ll have bare lightbulbs strung up through this courtyard to mimic starlight, and it’s the night of the total lunar eclipse, so the moonlight will come in through the ceiling perfectly.”

Chenle comes bounding up from the end of the path. “Ge, where’s the centerpiece? The suspension rig is already set up but the painting’s not there?”

Renjun’s smile turns a little wooden, but he hopes the Zhongs don’t notice. “It’s still back at my studio,” he responds carefully. “There are a few adjustments that I’m finishing up.” _ A few_, he repeats in his head, visualizing the near-empty canvas sitting in his studio.

The Zhongs seem blissfully unaware of his internal strife as they cheerfully ply him with more well-meaning expectations he’ll have to exceed, but Renjun keeps his frazzled state of mind hidden as he sees them back out of the garden and the gallery proper, holds back his mental typhoon by sheer force through hours of paperwork all the way until his late lunch with Donghyuck.

The cafe down the block, a conservatively modern corner constructed with cast iron and naked wooden planks that Jaemin would have adored, is overpriced as always, but that never stops Renjun and Donghyuck on the rare occasion they’re both working at the same time. Renjun splits his time between painting at home or teaching classes at various studio spaces downtown, while Donghyuck migrates between giving tours of the gallery and getting dragged to showcases with Mark when purchasing new collections. Why the L.A. native insisted on making his personal assistant someone who can’t stand him is beyond Renjun, but he’s got other things on his mind besides Mark’s hidden masochistic streak. Like Hyuck’s current line of questioning.

“So what’s with the stick up your ass today?” The man in question asks around a mouthful of unreasonably-priced panini. “You’ve already got two boyfriends, not much room up there for anything else.”

When Renjun fails to respond characteristically to his crudeness, Donghyuck sets his sandwich down and leans over the table to stare at the dazed artist. “Junnie, you okay there?” He asks again, voice softening with genuine concern.

Renjun visibly snaps out of it, inhaling deeply and resurfacing from his thoughts. “I haven’t finished the keystone piece.”

Hyuck settles back into his seat. “The Zhong party, right? You have like a month though? You’ll finish it in time.”

Renjun clenches his hands into fists. “No, it’s not that the deadline’s coming, it’s that I don’t have any idea of what to even draw. And it has to be absolutely _ exceptional _ because I told Chenle’s parents the series was representative of their foundation’s success and if I fuck this up I’ll screw over the gallery as a whole if critics hate it-”

“Whoa, okay, I’m going to stop you there,” Hyuck interrupts, balancing on the chair’s hind legs with a handful of fries. “You know they aren’t going to scalp you like that, and Mark’s so fucking loaded we’re not going to tank. The gallery’s not gonna go to ruins because one painting doesn’t blow their socks out of the water.”

Renjun leans forward, ignoring his best friend’s idiom misuse in favor of making sure he can see the panic in his eyes. “Hyuck, I _ haven’t started _.”

Donghyuck drops his chair back onto all four legs with a loud clang, oblivious to the dirty looks other people are giving them. “Well _ shit _, Renjun.”

“Right?” Renjun gestures wildly, gearing up to finally vent. “Like, the canvas is prepared, and I _ want _ to paint, but I keep thinking about having to pull a literal magnum opus out of my ass and then I can’t think of anything at all! What am I supposed to do now?”

Hyuck shrugs, considering, before standing up suddenly and brushing the crumbs off his shirt. “Well, it’s never too late to start now!”

Renjun stares up at him, not comprehending at all. “Start painting now?”

Hyuck snorts, tugging him by the hand out of the shop and all the way back to the gallery. “Of course not, there’s only one thing we can do right now: retail therapy!” He cheers, grabbing his coat and wallet out of Mark’s office and herding Renjun out the back door past the man in question. “If the creativity won’t flow, then let the cash do its job!”

“Hyuck?” Mark looks more confused than usual, coffee still halfway raised to his mouth as the two surge past. “Didn’t you guys just go to lunch?”

“Mark Lee, do try to keep up!” Donghyuck tosses over one shoulder as they breeze by. “We’re clocking out early today to support capitalism!”

“What?!” They hear Mark yelp behind them, but Hyuck is already flagging down a cab.

“Don’t worry, we’ll bring you back a souvenir!” No harried curator is chasing them down, so Renjun lets himself finally toss his head back and laugh as hard as he’s been wanting to. Donghyuck grins cheekily back. 

With his wallet in one hand and his best friend’s company in the other, Renjun’s feeling better already.

* * *

Renjun feels like shit.

The front door slams shut with a bang so loud his neighbors will probably file a complaint again, but his ankles are swollen and he’s too tired to care. Hyuck had dragged him from boutique to pricey boutique for hours, both of them spending more time laughing over the absurdity of high fashion than seriously trying anything on, but Renjun had splurged on a little something for both his boys, Hyuck slinging an arm over his shoulders and fake gagging in his ear as the disapproving saleslady finished wrapping everything up.

Renjun gropes blindly to his side for the bags now, still face down in his couch, too numb to even react when they fall off the coffee table. Then he remembers how much money he spent on everything and shoots upright to recover his packages.

Both boxes are fine, and he runs his hand over the plaid logo on one before carefully lifting the lid off layers of tissue paper.

“Isn’t that a little too big on you?” Hyuck had asked, eyeing through the mirror the leather jacket Renjun had been holding up to his own shoulders.

“Who said it was for me?” Renjun absentmindedly riposted, too occupied with thoughts of a certain black-haired man who would look so dapper in the supple bomber jacket that Renjun would just have to paint him afterwards.

“God you’re so whipped,” Hyuck had snorted before slinking off to terrorize another salesperson.

Renjun doesn’t bother looking into the other box yet; Jaemin would come for it later.

“We’re in Balenciaga and you’re looking at _ those_?” Hyuck had demanded, his own arms full of hoodies and sweatshirts and was that a baseball cap?

Renjun had set down the thick-soled sneakers he held with no little amount of trepidation (seriously, _ why _ was Jaemin going gaga over these) to jut his chin at Donghyuck. “Since when do you wear hats?”

His coworker shrugged defensively. “I said I’d get Mark a souvenir.”

Renjun hadn’t replied, wisely choosing not to kick that $450 beehive.

After putting away both purchases, Renjun trudges reluctantly to his studio, resigning himself to another fruitless session of staring blankly at an equally empty canvas.

But it seems as though retail therapy had helped a little: his thoughts haven’t been sucked away from him yet. The sun is lowering across the sky, still high enough that it hasn’t grazed the hem of the tarp yet, but it’s late enough in the afternoon that the glow through his window is distinctly golden. Jeno will arrive soon, Renjun muses to himself, setting his paints out. Maybe the anticipatory sun would make a nice background while he waits. At worst, he thinks sardonically to himself, it’s not like there’d be much to redo if he decided to start over.

* * *

When Renjun next comes to, it’s to the sensation of strong arms wrapping around his waist and the faint smell of clean linen. The artist takes a minute to resurface from his single-minded focus, leaning into the warm chest at his back and setting his brush down for the first time in hours. 

He’s sore from holding the same posture for so long, but it’s a satisfying kind of soreness, like a good workout or round of sex. While the painting’s nowhere close to being done yet, he can feel the beginning of an idea forming in his mind, but it’s one he’ll chew on later. He’s got other priorities right now, one of them happily nosing at the nape of his neck.

“How’d you get paint behind your ear?” Jeno chuckles quietly, and Renjun shivers with happy goosebumps from both the other’s breath and his lips that feather lightly where his thumb had come away streaked with purple.

Renjun grins playfully, even if Jeno can’t see it from this angle. “Hey, art is a process,” he pronounces mock-solemnly, turning around to sling both arms around the other’s neck and come face to face with his boyfriend.

Jeno is a perpetually tired creature, puffy bruises hanging above his striking cheekbones, but the smile that stretches across his chiseled features shaves a decade of exhaustion off his face, and Renjun feels his own heart rate break into a sprint. Jeno can probably hear it too, with how close they’re standing.

Renjun carefully rises on his toes to kiss the tip of his boyfriend’s nose, grinning wider at the ensuing twitch and wrinkle. Jeno always pretends to hate obvious displays of affection, but that never stops him from clinging to Renjun like a barnacle, all but begging for attention.

Renjun carefully pushes Jeno’s bangs off his forehead, careful not to get paint in his tousled hair. “Did you get your letter?” Jeno hums affirmatively, eyes fixed on Renjun’s lips, and the artist lets him tug his waist even closer into a deep kiss.

Where Jaemin is always eager to the point of desperation, kissing Renjun so hard all memory of how to breathe is wiped from his mind, Jeno’s approach is instead slower at first but no less passionate. He tends to let Renjun lead, only pressing his lips teasingly against the corner of Renjun’s mouth until the artist runs an impatient hand up his neck and forcefully slots their mouths together at the right angle. What Jeno lacks in initiation, he more than makes up for in possessiveness, hands ceaselessly roaming over Renjun’s back as they kiss, eventually hitching Renjun’s leg up at the knee to curl around Jeno’s hip, and it’s this motion that has Renjun pulling his face back.

“Jen,” he pants, trying hard to ignore the stirring of arousal in his gut and how inviting Jeno’s lips look after contact. “We need to eat dinner first.” Renjun still hasn’t tried to unwrap one leg from where it’s hitched on Jeno’s hip, betraying his true feelings, but his stomach chooses this moment to make itself known.

Jeno huffs out a laugh through his panting, predatory shine fading from behind his eyes in favor of a softer gleam as he recollects himself. “Dinner first,” he agrees, hoisting Renjun’s other leg up around his waist and ignoring the other’s indignant yelp as he gets carried bodily into the dining room.

It’s Renjun’s turn to sneak his arms around Jeno from behind, freshly showered and pretending he can hook his chin over Jeno’s shoulder without having to rise up on the balls of his feet. He buries his nose there as Jeno finishes rinsing the dishes, inhaling the faint scent of apples.

When Jeno shuffles over to dry his hands off, a Renjun-sized lump clinging to his back, the artist realizes he’s put on the same Moomin sweatshirt Jaemin had been wearing earlier that morning. That explained the smell of fruit.

Jeno tugs Renjun in front of him against his chest, smiling sweetly at his leech of a boyfriend. “Bed now?” He asks, but Renjun is already tugging him impatiently toward his bedroom.

Renjun’s favorite thing about Jeno has always been his eyes, whether they’re staring intently at scientific papers or curving up until they disappear when he laughs or even now, when they’re squinting at Jaemin’s chicken scratch in the dim light of Renjun’s single lamp. Renjun himself is lying on his side, scrolling aimlessly through his phone with one leg carelessly hooked over Jeno’s waist, perhaps sneaking a picture or two of the objectively strange contortions his boyfriend’s face is going through.

“Did you forget your glasses again?” He teases, snickering quietly as he sets up his new lock screen.

Jeno hums absently. “Wasn’t paying attention to them today.” He brings the paper even closer to his face. “Do you think this says ‘turkey’ or ‘silence’?”

Renjun shrugs as best he can while lying down. “No idea, I’m not allowed to see, remember?”

Jeno groans, giving up on squinting at it, but he still folds it carefully before sliding it in his pocket, cherishing every word from his other partner.

“Rough day today?” Renjun flips over to turn off the light, the waning moonlight the only way he can see Jeno now.

Jeno snuggles Renjun further into his chest, pressing kisses onto the top of his head. “A few meetings today, lots of talking and nothing getting done, you know how it is,” he replies, voice muffled into Renjun’s hair.

Renjun snorts. “You know I left academia behind me a long time ago, Jen.”

Jeno hums again, the vibrations traveling all the way through Renjun’s chest and reddening out the tips of his ears. “I’ve just missed you, is all.”

Renjun tips his head back to peck Jeno’s chin shyly. Even though they’ve been together for so long, he’s still not as vocal about his fierce adoration for his lovers. “Missed you, too,” he mumbles back.

Jeno rolls over further until he’s directly on top of Renjun, caging him in between his elbows and knees, but Renjun has never felt more secure than when he’s drowned in Jeno’s presence, his boyfriend the only thing all five of his senses can catch. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” 

Despite hearing the teasing laugh in the other’s tone, Renjun can barely respond, too intent on memorizing Jeno’s features with his eyes, his breath, his hands. 

The playfulness slowly fades from Jeno’s face as his eyes slide shut and he leans further into Renjun’s touch. “Sorry for leaving so soon.”

Renjun cradles Jeno’s face in his hands so carefully, nothing but love and concern in his gaze. He leans up slightly to brush his lips against Jeno’s forehead again. “Don’t apologize, Jen, it’s not your fault.”

Jeno sighs again as Renjun inhales, wishing he could breathe his boyfriend into his lungs and keep him there, if only so he could stay a little longer. They’ve spent too much time talking, too far apart, and their lips meet again as Renjun tugs Jeno down, fingers wound in the hair at the back of his end. They pull apart for a second, both catching their breaths from the intensity of their meeting, and Renjun can’t help but to run his tongue over his lips, trying to taste Jeno more even as he’s losing the ability to use his lungs. 

Jeno’s eyes flicker down to the flash of his teeth, captivated, before groaning and replacing Renjun’s tongue with his own lips again. Renjun fists a hand tighter in his hair, pressing Jeno down as he licks through Renjun’s mouth possessively. It’s all slick and heat and too much but not enough, Renjun thinks in a daze, barely able to kiss back before just keeping his lips parted for Jeno to do as he wishes.

“One for him,” Jeno breathes out right against his lips in a gentle peck against the corner of his mouth, so different from his voracious behavior just a minute before. Renjun can taste his reluctance to part for even a moment. “And one for you.” Renjun tilts his head up expectantly, eyes falling shut again, but there’s a tug in his core like he’s suddenly fallen from a great height as the comforting weight above him disappears. He opens his eyes again, ready to voice his complaint, but-

But in the dark of his room, Jeno is nowhere to be seen. The moonlight seems to waver as if in a faint breeze. 

He’s gone, as if he were never there in the first place.

Renjun can do nothing but sigh, resigned, settling restlessly back under his sheets, the taste of his lover sitting faintly in the back of his throat like a bittersweet parting. 

Until tomorrow, then.

**Author's Note:**

> find me being a crackhead on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hurricane_ivy) and let me know what you thought on [cc](https://curiouscat.me/hurricane_ivy) :D


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